The Pleasure of Your Company
by bugsfic
Summary: A series of vignettes chronicling Lucien and Jean's wedding preparations, from the point of view of other characters. No real plot, just scenes we'd like to see, going from 5.8 to the wedding in the telemovie.
1. Maid of Honour

As the dinner party chattered excitedly around her, Alice presented a glacial surface, her voice steady as she offered congratulations to the happy couple. Matthew clapped Lucien's shoulder and went around to take his turn to kiss Jean's cheek after Charlie had first honours. Rose burbled excitedly.

Shifting her eyes toward the doorway, Alice wondered if anyone would notice if she suddenly left. She was happy for Lucien and Jean, truly. And from a practical standpoint, she was certain that married life would suit Lucien; steady his nerviness. For a few moments, she allowed herself to fantasise about a Lucien Blake who behaved in a professional manner, then shook it off with a small smile.

Everyone settled back into their chairs. She dreaded what came next. After wedding announcements came wedding planning, and planning meant choosing attendants for the bride. She was thirteen again, forced into duty as a junior bridesmaid for her cousin Arlene, overheated in lemon yellow satin that clashed horribly with her pink skin and red frizzy hair. Stumbling down the aisle to the chorus of snickers counted as one of the most humiliating occasions of her life. As an adult, she didn't have to do anything that she didn't want to do. Only denying Jean may be easier said than done.

In the past year, she and Jean had come to know each other better, and although they were very different sorts of women, they enjoyed each other's company. But Alice would not wear some frivolous gown, probably a silly hat, and parade before half the town, even if this marriage would result in Lucien doing his paperwork in a timely manner.

And she should be afraid. With a glint in her eyes, Jean was explaining what she'd planned so far. "If you agree, Lucien, I've booked the Colonists' Club. They'll open up the reception rooms, and we can do the ceremony at one end, then the reception at the other with a light repast, perhaps a small band…" Rattling through the details, Jean obviously relished organising things. Alice shrank back in her seat. A bridesmaid would be expected to help in all this endless preparation.

Lucien held up his hands. "I'll defer to you, Jean. Just tell me what time to show up."

Jean fixed him with her laser gaze and Alice held her breath. Excellent. The hawk had spotted fresh prey.

"Lucien, this is your wedding too. No worries, it'll be simple and dignified, befitting our time of life. This won't be some splash affair with me kitted out in white satin and orange blossom followed by a dozen attendants."

Alice perked up a bit.

"Wait a minute here," grumbled Matthew. "I don't get to be the best man?" He shot Charlie a steely look. "I'm cutting you off, mate."

Nodding acquiescence, Charlie stuffed a big bite of ham in his mouth. Rose snorted. Alice became concerned again. Damn that man for prolonging this discussion!

"I suppose someone needs to hold the rings," Jean mused. "And make sure that Lucien doesn't enjoy his buck's night too much—"

"Buck's night?" Lucien shook his head. "We're too old for that sort of fuss." Jean flared up at his use of 'too old' even though she'd just said the same thing.

"Damn," Matthew said, winking at Alice. She looked askance and he dished up more roast potatoes, appearing ashamed.

"I just want to be married," Lucien said, in such a passionate tone that everyone at the table looked uncomfortable. He quickly added, "But I also want you to have a lovely occasion." He toyed with his wine glass stem. "I'm sure you'd rather be married in Sacred Heart. Won't feel truly wed from a civil ceremony."

Now everyone was uncomfortable for another reason. Jean raised her chin. "No," she said definitely. "It's our wedding, Lucien, not just mine. I've had my wedding at Sacred Heart. That was another wedding for another time. This wedding will suit us to a tee."

Everyone relaxed, even Alice. She drained her wine glass.

"But surely you'll want at least one attendant, Jean," said Rose.

Alice slowly put the glass down on the table. There was no escape now.

Jean shrugged and cast her gaze away from the circle of friends, "I hadn't put much thought into that. I just want to be married too."

"Well, I volunteer," Rose tossed out carelessly, "I think it'd be loads of fun."

Alice huffed; how could anyone consider that exhausting duty fun?

"Unless you have an old friend who you'd prefer," Rose added quickly.

Jean's smiled at her stiffly. "No, I wouldn't want to put them in a difficult position."

The table fell silent. Lucien pushed around the remnants of his meal with his fork.

Charlie shoved back his chair. "Anyone for more wine?" Everyone spoke at once, covering the tension with a jumble of talk while holding up their glasses for a refill.

"Thank you, Rose," said Jean. "That was a very kind offer. But we'll keep it just the two of us with Matthew, I think."

Staring into the dark depths of her wine, Alice felt terribly guilty for her own self-centered, petty emotions. And oh so very relieved.


	2. Formal Affair

Lucien Blake lay his chequebook on the Colonists' Club treasurer's desk. "Mrs Beazley has reserved the club for our wedding on March 25th. I'll be putting down the deposit."

"Of course." Fred Sampson pulled out the reservation ledger and flipped through the pages with quick, fussy flicks of his wrist.

While he did, Lucien turned to the other man in the office, Keith Morrisey, who was leaning against the wall. "How are you these days, Keith?"

"Spent Christmas Day at the women's prison," Keith said shortly. "Just like I did last year."

Fred frowned. So distasteful to air one's dirty laundry like that. "Here we are," he said abruptly. "Yes, Mrs Beazley held that date. The reception rooms at the top of the stairs, the dressing rooms at the bottom for preparations, the kitchen, cutlery, glassware, crockery, coffee urns, tea…" Fred droned on.

Keith stared at Lucien. "It'll be quite the affair." He lingered on the word 'affair'.

Lucien tugged down his waistcoat and turned back at Fred. "I'm sure Jean ordered exactly what's necessary."

Fred ignored the tension in Lucien's tone. "We'll put on two cooks, a dishwasher, six waiters, bartenders…" he peered over his half-glasses at Lucien. "Two bartenders will be enough?"

Giving a rueful smile and ignoring Keith's repressed snort, Lucien nodded.

Fred continued to tally up the charges. "And good old Cec can manage the staff. You know how dependable he is."

Lucien smiled thinly. "Mr Drury will be there, certainly. But as a guest."

Keith pushed off the wall. "He can't do that!"

"We're sending an invitation, requesting that Mr Drury give us the honour of his company."

"Keith is right," Fred said. "We can't have staff members attending social functions."

"There's no worry," Lucien said easily. "He won't be a staff member. He'll go as our family friend."

Hissing with aggravation, Fred held up his hands. "That simply can't be done." Then he cooled down and tried to cajole Lucien. "Cec is a long time employee of this club. It would make him terribly uncomfortable to be a guest."

"Just like you, Lucien, to try something like this," Keith grumbled. "We'll see what Patrick has to say about it."

Leaning back in his chair, Lucien folded his arms tightly. "Yes, Patrick will say something. But not what you think. He and Mrs Beazley are good friends." He reached for his chequebook. "The way I see it, you've got two choices. Take my money, or hear about it from Patrick Tyneman."

Keith and Fred exchanged looks. Finally Keith left the office. Fred cleared his throat and said, "The deposit will be two hundred pounds."

Lucien flipped open the chequebook with a flourish.

After he left, Keith returned to the office. "Arrogant bastard," he growled.

"Very much. But he's marrying some common slut, so blood did tell."

"That's right," Keith said. "His mother came out of the gutter too. Rosemary had a thing or two to say about her."

"But why is Blake marrying the hired help now? He's been getting it for five pounds a week for years."

"Don't underestimate that one," Keith said, "Rosemary didn't trust her either."

Fred peaked his fingertips and looked steadily at Keith. "You've become hard, Keith."

"Wonder why?" Keith dropped into the chair that Lucien had vacated.

"No worries though. That _charwoman_ will never be invited to my home," Fred stated. "Nancy would rather host some New Australian green grocer. All her social climbing will be for naught. Or should I say lying on her back. Patrick Tyneman's good friend indeed."

Despite the hallowed mahogany halls, their ugly laughter was better suited for a locker room. Fred slid Lucien's cheque into the top drawer of his desk and turned the key with a sharp click.


	3. Best Man

In a shocking example of how the wedding preparations were flapping the unflappable, Jean was reviewing her ledgers and notebooks between hasty bites at the dinner table. Matthew noted with amusement how Lucien kept his head down and ate steadily rather than question it. The wedding date had been set for only a week now, but Lucien had received the sharp edge of her tongue enough times to know to keep his mouth shut….or so Matthew thought.

"Darling, why don't you leave that for a minute and enjoy dinner?" Lucien said, reaching over to still her hand scribbling names on a guest list.

Her head jerked up and Matthew cringed in fear.

Like the rattling of gunfire, she replied: "Lucien, we're already behind and are playing catch up every moment. With the long honeymoon after the wedding, your patients have been ringing up constantly for appointments. I'll be using flowers from the garden in the arrangements and need to assure there's peak bloom, and then there's you two—"

Her sharp gaze fell on Matthew and Lucien.

Holding up his hands, Matthew protested, "Keep me out of this!"

"You want to be best man," she retorted.

Charlie snickered into his glass of water.

Lucien's back was up. "What about us?"

"You need new suits." Jean flipped the page in her ledger and drew a dark line under the word Suits.

"New suits?" Lucien shook his head. "We've got perfectly good suits. My blue is nearly new—"

Matthew saw this all going terribly wrong, and fast. He put his hand on Lucien's arm. "Suits, right," he barked. "We'll go to the tailors on Monday," and he was graced with a smile from Jean.

Lucien started to speak and Matthew tightened his grip on his friend's arm. Pursing his lips, Lucien pulled his arm free, but remained silent.

"What colour?" Matthew asked, earning a roll of Lucien's eyes.

"Black, I think," Jean said, giving him another approving smile. "That'll go with whatever I choose for my suit."

"Right." Matthew returned to his chicken.

But Lucien was spoiling for a fight. "I still don't see why you're not getting a wedding dress—"

Charlie looked alarmed; even with his limited experience, he knew this would not end well for Lucien. Matthew cleared his throat loudly but Lucien didn't hear the warning. "Perhaps a nice cream colour?" he suggested.

She stabbed a carrot off her plate. "That would be utterly ridiculous. I'm not some sweet young thing prancing down the aisle for the first time," she huffed.

"Well, of course not—" Lucien started to say, and then her indignant glare stopped him. Confused, he looked around the table.

"I'll pop up to Melbourne to find a suit. Something dignified, classic, that I can wear again—"

"You know that you don't have to worry about the money—"

Matthew sighed heavily. Although his own wedding had been decades ago, he vaguely remembered the point when the squabbles started. It would appear that Lucien and Jean had arrived at that crossroads.

Sure enough, Jean tossed her head back so she could look down her nose at Lucien. "It's not about money," she said coldly. "It's about what people will think—"

Lucien laughed. "As though what you wear will make up for my public disgrace—"

She pointedly ignored him and looked to Matthew; he'd shown that he was willing to work with her. "You'll got to Bergman's for your suits; he does the best work. Narrow lapels. Two buttons." She glanced at Lucien, but it was not for approval. "And no waistcoats."

Outraged, Lucien opened his mouth to speak.

Charlie decided he had to break in before things got anymore heated. "Speaking of Melbourne," he said loudly, breaking up their argument, "I've accepted a spot for detective training in Melbourne. I'll be leaving in three weeks. I'll be gone about six months. I'm afraid I'll miss the wedding—"

Lucien and Jean stared at him. Finally, Lucien clapped his hand on Charlie's shoulder. "We'll miss you, but what a great opportunity." He turned to Jean. "Right, Jean?"

Jean's eyes suddenly flooded with tears. She rose abruptly from the table. "I need to…take the washing off the line," she managed to say before fleeing the room.

Matthew crossed his arms and glared at Lucien and Charlie. "Blood hell, you two are useless," he growled.

Lucien showed that he wasn't a complete loss, and hurried to find his fiancee. After finishing his dinner and taking his empty plate to the sink, Matthew peered out through the window. Would his mate manage to smooth things over? Yes, Lucien was cradling Jean in his arms, stroking her hair as she sniffled into his chest.

"What did I do?" Charlie was looking over his shoulder.

"One son is overseas, and the other probably won't come to the wedding. And now you're leaving."

"Oh." Charlie's shoulders slumped. "I didn't think of that."

Matthew slapped him on the back. "But you took her attention off Lucien being a dickhead, so you were best man of the moment."


	4. The Bridal Party

At first Celia didn't recognise Jean Beazley. It wasn't just the new hairstyle and the shocking tendency to wear trousers to the shops. There was a confidence about her since becoming engaged to Lucien Blake that had changed her very carriage. Then Celia noticed the familiar tip of her head, furrow of her brow and she said "Jean!" before she remembered that Jean had deserted them—for that shocking man.

' _Let's look at that tummy.'_ His voice had been kind and gentle, his fingertips soft. He'd smelled nice. Not like her husband, how he reeked of sour alcohol and stale cigarettes, and whose grip was clumsy and painful. Confused, Celia started to back down the narrow shop aisle, pulling her baby pram along.

Before she make her retreat, Benny echoed his mother's excited squawk from his pram.

"Celia!" Jean quickly dropped the pale ivory tulle that she'd been fingering. They were among the fine fabrics suitable for christenings, confirmations and weddings.

Celia shushed Benny. There was no avoiding Jean now, so she might as well ask: "Starting on your wedding gown?"

Jean didn't answer. She leaned over to tweak the baby's plump cheek. "Benny's grown so much. The last time I saw him was before Christmas, of course."

Celia nodded, uncomfortable. She turned back to the fabric. "That'll be a lovely gown. Getting a bit of a late start though." She'd seen the announcement in the Courier and now the wedding was be in two weeks' time. It hadn't be in the church notices, of course.

"I'm not making a gown. I bought a nice suit." Jean smiled stiffly. Her gaze shifted back to the frothy silks. "I'm too old for such silliness anyway."

"Right," Celia murmured. Benny began to fret and she bent to soothe him.

"He looks just like his father," Jean noted.

"Thank God." Quickly changing the subject, Celia snared the end of a bolt of an ivory satin. "You've made so many lovely dresses for others, why not yourself?" She remembered that Jean had made her dress, had treated her like a real lady during the fittings. The future had seemed so bright in those days, Ben so in love and attentive.

"It's silly," Jean repeated, shrugging.

Celia gave Benny a teething ring to quiet his fussing.

Jean continued, as though reading her mind. "But considering the spectacle that we've been putting on for the whole town, me wearing a proper dress would hardly raise an eyebrow." Jean always was the sort to cut right to the meat of the matter. Cecia's laughter bubbled out.

Jean joined in, but then sobered. "Pa—a friend, a very good friend, recently told me that we need our triumphs. I haven't had many in life. Always worried about what others would think or say—but maybe it's time. Time to enjoy this day." Her smile turned impish again. "After all, I might as well give something yummy for the gossips to chew on."

Celia became practical. "Do you have a pattern?"

Jean tapped her temple. "Right here."

Celia motioned to a hovering clerk. "Let's get started then." She felt very daring for the first time in a long time…well, since she'd accepted an invitation for tea with Terrance Hampton, their insurance agent with the engaging smile. She still wasn't sure what she felt about Jean's abandonment, but she knew that she had to be bold once more, or lose herself forever.

"There's not time for me to finish—"

"Let _us_ get started," Celia repeated firmly, even as her hands shook with uncertainty.

X

But it wasn't going to be that easy. Ben started his usual integration as soon as she told him that she was going out for the evening, and several more evenings in the future until the gown was finished.

"Jean Beazley? Bullshit!" he roared.

Celia covered Benny's ears. "Language!" she warned.

"That slapper's been tossed out of church. You're not going to associate with her."

Furious, Celia spat, "Decide which it is. Am I sneaking off to an affair or hanging around with another slut?"

Backed into a corner, Ben took a step forward, just to see her cower in fear.

She tried a softer approach. "Ben, truly. It's helping an old friend out. She can't tailor the dress herself."

"She's been tossed out by Father Emery! How's that gonna make you look?"

"She chose to leave of her own accord—"

"And then had some armed standoff in the cemetery!"

"Ben, don't be silly! This is Jean Beazley you're talking about! Christopher Junior was a mate of yours."

He was always much more dangerous when he lowered his voice as he did now. "You're not going."

"I promised," she whispered. "And Dorothy and Evelyn are going. It'll be perfectly respectable." In fact, she hadn't rung up the other ladies yet, and wasn't even sure her friends would be willing to visit the disgraced former member of the sewing circle.

It did take some convincing for Evelyn: "Celia, I was Father Morton's housekeeper and now I do for Father Emery three times a week. It would seem that I condone what Jean's done, and that's simply not the case."

"I'm surprised that you associate with me," Celia said, stung.

"But you have confessed your sins," Evelyn pointed out.

It was time to make a low shot. "You may have gone to jail for murder if it wasn't for Doctor Blake."

Evelyn had been quiet for a long time before saying, "Hate the sin, love the sinner."

"So I'll pick you up at six?"

Dorothy had been much easier, even eager. "It's been ever so long since I've seen Jean. I'll make biscuits."

Celia brought Benny, promising Ben some peace and quiet for the evening. He'd be drunk when she got home, hopefully passed out to give her some solitude of her own.

x

When the sewing circle arrived at the Blake house, every room was lit bright and people bustled everywhere. The dignified household of the senior Doctor Blake was gone.

"I'm so sorry," Jean said, ushering them through the house, "Lucien and his gang are setting up our new bed-edroom." She stuttered on 'bed' and flushed.

She quickly introduced everyone. Besides Lucien Blake, there was Chief Superintendent Matthew Lawson, nearly unrecognisable in civilian clothes; a young policeman, Danny Parker; and the Courier reporter, Rose Anderson. The two young people were in dungarees and worn shirts, and although Lawson leaned heavily on a cane, he seemed ready to work as well.

Jean settled the ladies in the dining room, her dress form at the ready, and the shopping sacks with the fabrics and notions in them. Lucien was fussing about though, his eyes bright and curious on the women. She made the situation clear, flapping her hands at him. "Your lot straighten out the studio." She called to Danny. "Bring the folding screen from the doctor's exam room. It'll shield this doorway." For the doorway between the lounge and dining room, she tugged the heavy curtains free from their holdbacks. "No peeking, Lucien."

"I'm not," he said as he peered over her shoulder and smiled greetings. They all murmured uncomfortable replies.

"Change your clothes before you ruin another pair of trousers." She gave him a brisk slap on the bum as a way of moving him along, but that got her a slow smile, and their eyes locked.

Celia couldn't look away as her friends did. Her lover had gazed at her that way. She'd believed him when he told her that she was special to him, that they'd be together someday—no second wedding for her, though. She didn't believe in divorce. Head down, she started to sort through her sewing box for her scissors and pins.

"Right. I'll be a good boy," Lucien murmured before heading to his bedroom. Her cheeks pink, Jean yanked the curtains closed and joined the other women.

She had several magazine photos for reference, and had done a sketch of a dress based on her favourite elements. She'd marked pages in her pattern books for a tea length satin skirt and a fitted bodice with a fine lace overlay. After rolling out paper, she quickly set the patterns and the women pinned them to the fabrics.

"Thank you so much for helping," Jean said, "it means alot to me."

Dorothy squeezed her hand. "I've missed you so much, Jean."

"I've missed you too."

Celia bit back, 'Then why have you left us?'

"Jean?" was at the curtain.

"Yes, Lucien." She didn't look up from the piece that she was cutting.

"I've changed."

She sighed. "And?"

"Do you want to check my clothes?"

She whispered to them, "He doesn't dress down much."

Flipping back the curtain just enough to see him, she looked him up and down. "That shirt!" she exclaimed. The other women craned their necks to see. He wore a white dress shirt but there was a faint but large stain on the left side of the chest. In the center of the stain, Jean had neatly stitched shut a large tear. His trousers were faded gray, the knees a bit shiny with age.

He was rolling up his sleeves, and snugged them at elbows. "Will I pass muster?"

She rested her hand in the middle of his chest, and rubbed a light circle. Tweaking the open collar down flat, she said, "You'll do," giving him a soft smile.

He planted a quick kiss on her cheek as to not muss her lipstick, and then dramatically swished the curtains closed.

After a moment, Jean turned back to her friends. Brushing a lock of hair off her flushed cheek, she smiled at them. "Right. Back to it."

At first, It was just like old times. But when their needles were flashing, basting together the pieces, the conversation turned to the wedding.

Jean kept her voice casual. "You've all received your invitations?"

They murmured back. Celia pricked her fingertip with a pin and quickly sucked it dry before the blood could stain the fabric.

Smoothing the lace out flat to cut it, Jean said, "I understand if you can't come. But you are truly welcome."

Before they could respond, there was a great crashing in the hall and the young policeman came barreling into the room, knocking over the screen. A massive walnut headboard was stuck crossways in the studio doorway. Benny started to cry.

Jean rushed forward to replace the screen. "Danny, what are you doing?"

"I lost my footing, Auntie Jean. That's a bloody big bed." Danny raised his eyebrows and she smoothed her hands down her skirt, avoiding his teasing grin.

Matthew stuck his head around the screen. "Danny, get the hell back over here. Lucien can't hold it up all on his own and I'm useless," he grumbled, irritated.

"I need a hand here," came a breathless male voice from behind the bed.

"Where's that girl?" growled Matthew. "Gave her a man's job to do and no sign of her."

"She's stuck in the studio,." Danny pointed out.

Jean gave the women an exasperated look. "I'd better go look in on all this. I'll put the kettle on afterward. Just about time for a tea break, I say."

Celia was settling Benny down a bit, giving him a bottle but his eyes were still wide and anxious as he looked around. Their house was much more quiet and dark.

Evelyn leaned over the table to hiss: "I'm not surprised by any of this. Doctor Blake is a bit—"

"I've brought my ginger biscuits," Dorothy said, cutting her off. "Could you find them in my bag?" she asked Evelyn, shutting off the gossip. She pushed herself up from the table and stuck her crutches under her arms before hobbling into the kitchen. The other women followed.

After washing their hands at the tap, the work crew joined them, ribbing each other for the lack of progress.

Jean poured out, shaking her head. "It won't matter if we have this dress finished, if there's no marital chamber to retire to after the ceremony."

"Here, here," Lucien said a bit too strongly for everyone's comfort.

"Time to call in reinforcements," said Matthew, and got on the phone.

Benny was still fussing, and Celia was having trouble juggling his squirming body and her teacup. While moving around the table with the teapot, Jean took the baby and went to pass him to Rose. The young woman looked horrified, so Jean settled him on her hip and finished her round.

Lucien came up beside her and cupped Benny's head. "It's all too much for you, mate?"

"He's teething," said Celia said shortly.

"I can get him something for that," Lucien said, his mood quickly brightening at the prospect at offering medical assistance.

As he bustled back with a bottle in hand, the front door rang. He opened the door as he went past. A woman with short, slightly untidy red hair was there.

"Oh hello, Alice. Come on in."

Alice's face blanched at the sight of all the people in the kitchen.

"Yes, Alice, join us," Jean said, beckoning. She introduced Alice to the sewing circle.

Dorothy asked, "Are you going to help us with the dress?"

Alice blinked in befuddlement, then said carefully, "I think that you'll find my stitching is a bit rough."

"Doctor Harvey is a pathologist," Jean said, her smile fixed. Dorothy looked confused. "She examines dead bodies. She and Lucien work together on police cases."

Dorothy shrank back in her chair.

Jean turned to Alice. "Do you have any trousers? Can't have you helping out in a skirt."

"Gosh, no," said Rose, crunching on a biscuit. "Uncle Matthew is working us like navvies."

"Come along then," Jean said smartly. "You can borrow a pair of mine."

After the two women had left the kitchen, Evelyn mused, "I could never wear trousers. They're not lady-like."

"What is means to be a lady keeps changing every day," Rose said cheerfully.

Evelyn looked horrified at the prospect.

"That dress isn't going to sew itself," Dorothy said, struggling to her feet with the support of the table.

"Do you want to get out of that dirty work?" Evelyn said to Rose, "and help us with the dress?"

Danny snorted. Rose glared at him. She said, "That's alright. I'm even more useless than Alice with the womanly arts. I'll stick with being dumb, brute strength." She flexed her arm and Danny laughed outright, but his gaze was admiring.

"Well, those boxes aren't going to shift themselves," Lucien said, slapping his thighs and rising.

"Auntie Jean, where exactly should we shift those to?" Danny asked Jean as she reappeared with Alice, now in a pair of trousers, and self-consciously tugging at the waistband.

"Goodness," Jean looked around. "We really should sort through those, but there's not time—"

"Just take them to Charlie's old room," Lucien suggested. Jean quickly looked to Rose, but she was just snagging the final biscuit off the plate.

"Hey, I'm sleeping there," Danny said, but the team was already moving to the studio.

"Ladies, back to our job," Celia said, tucking Benny on her hip.

By the end of the evening, Jean had had her first fitting. The gown was inside out, so there was no real way to see how it would look, but she still turned to and fro, critical of the length. "Perhaps a bit longer?"

"Skirt hems are moving up," Celia noted.

"Not on me," Jean said tartly. "I think a tea length would be appropriate for an afternoon wedding."

"But is the skirt a bit…bell-shaped?" said Dorothy, giving it a frown.

"You may be right." Jean smoothed her hands down her flanks. "Lucien does prefer a more fitted skirt for the backside, but I don't want to appear as though I'm going to a cocktail party."

Evelyn looked both confused and offended at the same time. Celia cleared her throat, not sure if she should be put out either. Dorothy just seemed vague.

Taking her sketchpad, Jean made a few quick lines. "We'll try some gathering tomorrow, and see if what looks best."

"It is getting late," Celia agreed, glancing at the clock. Surely Ben would be passed out on the settee already.

Everything was gathered up, and as they passed through, they found the moving crew had already given up and were scattered around the lounge with drinks.

After the exchange of parting, and Jean closed the front door on them, Celia felt as though they had been cast out into the darkness in more ways than the obvious.

The next day, nursing his sore head, Ben thankfully said nothing more about the sewing circle and Celia slipped away, feeling light-hearted in a way that she hadn't since she would make excuses to meet her lover.

Jean was in her dressing gown when they arrived, ready for her next fitting. The moving crew had been turned into a painting crew and were already at it, their voices echoing in the studio. It was Lucien's turn to shield his work from Jean and he closed the doors definitely in her face after a quick kiss.

The curtains were still closed, the screen up, and Jean dropped her dressing gown and held up her arms for the wedding dress to be slipped over her head by Evelyn and Celia while Dorothy waited with pins at the ready.

But first Dorothy stared at Jean's undergarments and remarked, "So there's your blue then?"

Once remarked on, Celia noticed that Jean's foundation garment weren't her usual simple Woolworth bought, carefully darned until it wore out. It was a satin corset with blue ribbons threaded along the hems and small blue bows set down the front. It was certainly purchased at one of the high-end shops, like so much of Jean's wardrobe these days.

"Yes, I suppose it will," Jean said.

The matter settled, Dorothy motioned for them to pull the dress on.

"Pleats?" Dorothy suggest, beginning to pinch up the full skirt.

Jean looked down. "I think that'll make it look a bit too casual." She flipped to a drawing in her sketchbook. "What do you think of this? Just a pleat on each side. To give shape and definition without looking fussy."

"Oh, that would be lovely," enthused Dorothy as she pinned the fabric. "Really, you should do this professionally. Your gowns are always brilliant and so much more than the pattern."

Evelyn helped Jean out of the dress. "That is an idea. Although I suppose you won't need to work anymore." Her voice was a bit bitter.

"Lucien has said something about engaging a new housekeeper, but I've assured him that I'll simply go mad without something to do," Jean said with steely determination.

Celia looked around. "This large house will keep you busy. You'll have other obligations too, once you're married. As a doctor's wife, you won't have time for vacuuming."

Her words were weighty in the air and all the women were silent.

"Before I forget," Dorothy said, raising her chin. She fumbled in her handbag. "Here's my RSVP card. To save on postage."

"Thank you," Jean said gently, taking the card. "Let me pop that in with the others."

She slipped through the curtains, leaving them open a bit. Celia watched her open a box on the sideboard and flip through the cards to place Dorothy's in the right spot. Lucien passed through kitchen and spotted her. His face lit up.

"What's this about? In your dressing gown already?" He flicked the sash of her gown before his hand settled on her hip.

"It's important to try on your dress with the undergarments that you will be wearing," she explained huffily. "Assures a proper fit." Her fingers traces his bare forearm but she didn't push away his hand.

His voice lowered but Celia still caught what he said: "So you've got your pretty wedding undies on?"

Jean quickly glanced to the curtains so Celia lowered her head over her hand stitching. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them, feeling guilty, but unable to turn away. Jean carefully held the top of her gown open for just a moment, but Lucien's grin widened.

"Bloody hell, Jean. You're—" Celia couldn't hear the rest as Lucien leaned in and spoke into Jean's ear. But the way her cheeks flushed and she slewed her eyes at him, Celia knew the sort of thing that he must have said. Her throat tightened in anguish.

Turning quickly, Jean rejoined the others and closed the curtains.

Determined to sort the matter, Evelyn said, "I'm sorry, Jean, but you realise that I can't come—"

Jean sounded exactly like a doctor's wife when she said, "I never imagined that you would," in the nicest possible tone. Then turned to Dorothy and asked, "Will you need a car, Dorothy? We'll be happy to send one for you."

x

When they came the next day, Dorothy asked to see the studio before they began.

"Perhaps it's like the dress, and Jean shouldn't see it yet," Lucien said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Lucien!" Jean protested.

"I think that's a great idea," said Rose, obviously wanting to start trouble. "And romantic."

"Fine." Jean turned sharply on her heel, but she was smiling.

Celia wanted to see as much as the other ladies. They passed through the double doors and into a large room that smelled strongly of paint and wood polish. There was a large fireplace, and high wainscoting paneling around room. The wood was all dark, but the high walls had been painted a warm but bright color, like the best butter. A few rolled carpets were nestled by the massive bed draped in drop clothes.

"Oh, look!" Dorothy exclaimed, looking up at the ceiling. "It's gold!"

"My goodness," breathed Evelyn, "I didn't even notice that when I was here." She gave Lucien an unfriendly look. "It was so dark and crowded then."

"You're not going to paint that over?" Dorothy asked, leaning heavily on her crutches.

"That's still up for debate," Lucien said with a shake of his head.

"Do you have a cover for that large of a bed?" asked Rose, nonchalant. "Or do I just have the idea of a wedding present?"

"You don't have your pressie yet?" Matthew said. "Wedding's only a week off."

"Speaking of which, we need to get to work," Evelyn said, herding the two woman before her to the dining room.

They were nearly finished but Jean just wasn't happy about the neckline. "It's awfully…plain." It was a scooped neck of a lace overlaid on the satin bodice. "And this is plain," she grumbled, smoothing her hands down the high waist.

"Careful that you don't fix yourself right back into a new problem," warned Evelyn, peering over her glasses.

But Jean was already sketching. "I've seen this open collar on a few dresses. Sort of a Revers style—" She flipped through her magazines and stopped on a picture of Audrey Hepburn.

"But on a wedding dress?" Celia asked, glancing at the glossy page. "That's just a blouse."

Jean folded the lace and held it up to the top of the dress, showing them how the collar would look. "With pearl buttons like up the back, I think it would be dressed up."

Evelyn went through the bags. "I think there's enough buttons."

"And the V-neck would mean that I could wear the wedding gift that Lucien gave me."

"What is that?" asked Evelyn, her nosiness coming out.

"Just a moment," Jean said. They helped her out of the dress, and after pulling on her dressing gown, she slipped around the screen. She returned with a dark blue velvet flat jewellery box. Rose and Alice followed her, chatting.

"The boys are arguing about whether to paint the wainscoting or not. We put in our vote, but got shouted over," Rose explained, "so we're leaving them to it."

"How're things going here?" Alice asked, looking around with a curious gaze.

"We're just settling the final details," Dorothy explained.

Jean opened the box. "It's pearls," she explained. "He gave me black pearls when we were first engaged, but I think they'll be too dark with this color."

Evelyn and Celia exchanged raised eyebrowed looks.

"Those aren't the pearls that his Auntie gave you," said Alice.

"We decided to return those," Jean said carefully. Then she smiled. "And have a fresh start." Holding up her hair, she asked Rose to put the necklace on her. They measured where the lowest pearl settled on her breastbone, and went to change the neckline.

After putting on the kettle, Alice brought in a tea tray. Jean thanked her as she flipped through the magazines, looking for something to add to the waist.

"Not a wide belt," vetoed Celia, leaning over from the dress from where she was pinning up the hem.

At the increase of chatter, Benny woke from his nap and fussed. He was now excited and interested by all the activity of the Blake house. Alice was standing by his travel cot and looked down at him with curiosity.

"How're his gums?" asked Jean.

"The doctor's ointment has helped a great deal," Celia said. "Could you take him, Alice? I don't want to let go of this hem."

Her face full of trepidation, Alice cautiously reached into the basket and picked up the boy. She held him at arm's length under his armpits, his legs thrashing.

"Let me take him," said Jean, rescuing her friend.

Her relief palatable, Alice said, "Yes, right," as she passed along Benny. She tipped her head to Rose. "We should get back to it. We're no use here but we can fight to protect that lovely paneling."

The two women escaped and the others bent to their tasks. Jean had found a picture of Doris Day with a flat bow on the front of a gown, and decided that would be perfect to tie the lace overlay top of the gown to the skirt.

At the end of the evening, they stood around Jean in the dress and surveyed their accomplishment. A gown that was simple and elegant at the same time, with lovely details which spoke to Jean's taste and eye for style. On the other side of the curtain, Lucien was playing the piano, some romantic tune that Celia recognised vaguely as a favorite of her parents. Unconsciously, Jean was swaying to the music as she checked the way the dress moved. Celia felt tears pricking at her eyes, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'll press it and steam out the wrinkles, but it's done," Jean said, satisfied. She hugged and kissed each woman. "I have something for you," she added, and ignoring their protests, presented them each with silver thimble, with the simple words thank you engraved on it. They murmured their own thanks, feeling somehow shy.

When they parted by Celia's automobile, Jean's goodbye to Evelyn sounded very final. But she had all smiles for Dorothy, and a reminder that she'd ring up with the time for the ride to the wedding. For Celia, she gave another kiss on the cheek and murmured, "Take care," with such sympathy that Celia had to turn away without a reply.

x

Jean seemed truly surprised when she opened the door to Celia, but ushered her into the kitchen.

"Let me put the kettle on," she said.

"I won't be long," Celia said, "Mrs Clayton is watching Benny."

"Alright," said Jean, sinking into a chair by Celia.

"I'd thought perhaps you don't have something borrowed yet."

"I hadn't thought much about it," Jean admitted. "With everything else to be organised."

Celia pulled a jewellery box from her handbag. "If you'd like, may I offer my bracelet? It matches your necklace."

Jean opened the box and admired the pearl bracelet. "I remember when your Mum gave this to you before your own wedding. This is very thoughtful. Thank you."

Next Celia removed the RSVP card and put it on the table, her fingers trembling.

Jean slowly turned it over and looked at the names. Celica had crossed out Mr and left it as just Mrs Lloyd.

"You'll come alone?"

"Yes," Celia breathed.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jean said slowly.

"You sent me an invitation," Celia said, stung.

"And I can see that was a mistake. I'm sorry to have put you in that position."

"I want to come."

Jean put her strong fingers over Celia's white and clenched fists. "I know. But marriage means not always having what you want. I can't be responsible for causing discord with Ben."

"I'll deal with Ben," Celia protested.

"There's no need. Truly." Jean squeezed her shoulder. "This isn't the battle you need to fight with him. There's much more important things to stand for." Her smile was crooked as she held back tears. "Someday you'll have that triumph, Celia, just not this Saturday." She lifted the bracelet. "But you'll be with me."

"And you'll be the most beautiful bride," Celia promised her.

She'd never seen Jean smile like she did at those words. "I will, won't I?"


	5. Rehearsal

To Gladys, Jean would always have a mouth stained with blackberries, her bare legs scratched by brambles, her curls tangled. Twelve years old and the bravest girl ever, at least in Gladys's limited circle of acquaintance. They were best friends, but Gladdie didn't ever feel Jean's equal. Jean led, and she followed.

Bravery turned to recklessness when Jean had pulled Gladys into her bedroom and told her that she and Christopher had done _it_ , that it hadn't hurt like the other girls said, and she was so in love. Gladys had been bridesmaid to that wedding, following Jean down the aisle.

Jean passed Gladys' seat among the nearly empty chairs, her chin high, a bundle of bobbing daisies scattering petals behind her. This time, Gladys wasn't to be matron of honour, instead behind her came Matthew Lawson's niece. Jean hadn't asked, and Gladys didn't offer.

Lucien Blake stood at the end of the aisle, grinning foolishly. He stepped forward and met Jean, taking her hand and leading her the rest of the way to stand before the officiant. Laughter rippled through the small group of friends and family who were part of the wedding rehearsal.

"Now, Dr Blake," scolded the officiant, "It doesn't do to appear too eager." Jean just smiled at her chastised fiance.

Not a priest, but Robert Goldsmith, the magistrate. This would be legal marriage, but not a true one in the eyes of God. Her lifelong friend would now be an adulterer. Gladys shifted on her chair. It had taken a lot of prayer to decide to attend. Her own parish priest was the one who'd counseled her to go. "Jean will have the strength of your love in this terrible time."

Mr Goldsmith was explaining how he would do the vows. Of course Jean wouldn't vow to obey Lucien. Gladys actually found that a mercy.

Although Jean had beaten her to the altar, their first sons had been born within weeks of each other. Their farms had bordering paddocks. Years of shared harvests, droughts, calvings to attend had meant they were still best friends, at least to Gladys. But Jean's house had more books than Gladys had ever read in her life. She subscribed to the library even when times were tough. She talked of going to Paris someday, ignoring her husband's snort of derision. Gladys wanted to put this heartbreaking choice at the feet of Lucien Blake, but she could see the signs were always there.

"This is where I'll pronounce you man and wife," Mr Goldsmith said.

"Then we shall kiss?" Lucien asked and there was more laughter.

"Lucien," Jean said, tweaking his tie, but the look she gave him from under her eyelashes made Gladys focus on her hands. "You'll just have to wait."

"Surely we need to practice," Lucien protested.

"Mate, you've gotten plenty of that," Matthew said, clasping Lucien on the shoulder. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

Cec Drury had been sitting in the last row of chairs in his club uniform. He stood and announced, "You'll come down the aisle, then into the reception room." He looked around fretfully. "Unless you want a reception line?"

"No need, Cec." Jean gave her flowers to Rose. "Simple and effective," she said smartly. "Let's get this done."

Cec and Lucien exchanged a look behind her back. "The lady seems to have very definite expectations. Sure you're up to the task, sir?" Cec murmured.

After playfully glaring down his nose at Cec, Lucien called out, "Hold up, darling," as Jean circled the reception room to check on the arrangements there.

"Mum, they're doing up the dinner in the dining room," Danny said, giving Gladys' hand a pat and rising from his seat beside her.

When Jack had been arrested, and everyone was crossing the street instead of looking Jean in the eye, it had been easy to follow the crowd. Surely Jean hadn't noticed Gladys missing? She had been busy with selling the farm to pay a solicitor and searching for a job under this dark cloud. And certainly, when Gladys had come by to help Jean pack up the few things that she'd be taking to her new position with Dr Blake, Jean had seemed happy to see her old friend. Her life became busy, if she saw much less of Gladys over the years, it was natural of two women now on different paths.

"Here's our table," said Danny, as he checked the other tags on the plates. He grinned when he saw Rose Anderson's name.

"Over here," said Matthew Lawson, limping to the table, his niece in tow, peering over his shoulder at Danny.

Danny held out the chair for his mother, stealing a smile at Rose.

The final strike had been when Lucien Blake had replaced his father. Gladys first met him when she went by for luncheon and he was hungover from the drink, lingering in the shadows outside the kitchen. It had been a quite uncomfortable experience, made more so by the way Jean's gaze kept looking to him.

The now slender bond had broken with the simplest of words, the sort of phrase that Gladys had said multiple times when they were schoolgirls. "Careful you don't show you're sweet on him. That would make things difficult. "

Jane had frozen in pouring tea, nearly overflowing the cups. Then she'd said, "it's not like that." Nothing more was said that day, but after that, Gladys rarely went to the Blake House, and could count the number of times she'd spoken to Lucien Blake on one hand. Just as well. He unsettled her. He was always pleasant and welcoming, but there was an energy emanating from him that reminded Gladys of the buzz that the television made when trying to tune in a channel.

She could see that Jean had been caught by that electricity. At another table, Lucien and Jean chatted with their guests, and yet their hands found each other across the tablecloth, his fingers tracing along the back of her hand, her fingers capturing his strong thumb and holding on.

"Everything is to your satisfaction?" Cec Drury was at her shoulder. Surely he'd seen her watching them. She quickly looked at Danny, but he was too busy chatting with Rose. She mumbered her thanks.

Once the dinner was finished, the parties loitered chatting. It seemed that Lucien, Matthew and Danny were to stay at the club rather than going home.

"The fellows will have their buck's night," Jean explained as Lucien helped her on with her coat.

"It's not going to be like that," protested Lucien.

She turned to kiss him and he lost all his fight.

Wiping lipstick off his mouth, she told him: "Just don't drink too much."

"I be good as gold," he promised.

When she gathered up her handbag, he added, "And careful you girls don't get to wild on your hen night." He pointed at Rose. "You bring her to me in one piece."

Lacing her arm through Rose's, Jean pulled the girl along. "We're going," she said firmly. Gladys trailed behind.

Down on the street, a light rain was falling and the women clustered under the awning.

"Lucien's given me the Hudson to get home," Jean told Rose. "But we'll have a hire car to bring us back tomorrow. He somehow thought it would be too unseemly for me to drive to my own wedding."

"He's just so afraid something is going to shatter this and make it not real," Rose said.

Gladys stood off to the side, twisting the strap of her handbag. "I suppose I should be going myself," she said. "Bit of a drive back to the farm."

"Isn't Danny going to take you home?" asked Jean. "That boy—" She looked up the stairwell.

"I told him to stay. Enjoy the buck's night," Gladys explained. She glanced down the street to her auto. "Goodnight then."

Jean snared her hand. "Thank you so much for coming, Gladdie. I know it must have been difficult for you."

Gladys clutched Jean's hand in both of hers. "Without a priest, a true blessing, I want my prayers to be there for you."

Her smile fixed, Jean lowered her voice as Rose drifted away from them. "It's meant a lot for me to have you here. I know you mean well, but you don't need to worry about me. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. Do you trust me?"

Jean, swinging out across the creek on a branch. Gladys calling after her, "Don't do it, Jeanie! Don't!" But Jean let go, her lithe little body twisting in the sunlight. Gladys had to close her eyes, so the splash and laughter of delight was unseen. She hadn't been able to follow.

"Yes, Jean. I trust you," Gladys whispered, then turned and hurried down the dark street.


	6. Buck's Night

Later, Matthew would blame what transpired on the alcohol. Or rather, the lack of alcohol being consumed by Lucien Blake for once.

"I won't drink tonight," Lucien had announced just as Cec had began to pour out. All the men had looked at each other with shock, and Cec slowly put the stopper back in the decantenter.

"Very good, sir," he said formally.

"Cec, sit down. You're a guest too," Lucien told him. To the small group that made up an impromptu buck's night, he explained, "I want to have a clear head tomorrow. Can't let Jean down."

"Don't want to mess up the vows?" Danny suggested.

Lucien gave a half-smile. "That too."

Cec cleared his throat. "Right." He sat, rather stiff, in one of the chairs, but his gaze kept darting around the room. There were only male club members in the smoking room, but these were some of the stuffiest citizens of Ballarat. There were lots of rustling newspapers and clearing of throats, but no one spoke up.

Danny wondered how to get the party going. This wasn't like any buck's night that he'd attended before, but that was just like the doctor. No late night in the back room of a pub, full of fag smoke and the clink of beer glasses with girlie magazines being passed around. Instead, they sat at this posh club, where they'd have to sleep tonight so the girls could have the Blake house. Cec was perched on a chair, Lawson was drinking steadily but saying nothing, Bill was looking at the animal prints on the walls with bored half-interest, and Lucien turned his water glass, still a small smile on his lips, lost in thought. Danny decided that he should try small talk…

"You'll be leaving on your wedding trip Monday?" he asked.

Lucien started. "Yes," he replied, "The wedding tomorrow, then a good lie in on Sunday…" That smile became a smirk—

"Not going to church?" Matthew asked and instantly saw it was the wrong thing to say. He blinked blearily, noting Cec's outraged expression, Bill's eye roll and Danny's shock. Lucien looked like a puppy whose paw had been trod upon.

"I'll be staying the two nights in the station's backroom," he said grimly, "it'll be an adventure."

"You can come home," insisted Lucien.

"I think not." Matthew drained his glass and Cec popped up to refill it. He gave a pained smile. "Let you two enjoy some privacy."

Lucien was back to that dreamy expression.

Bill drained his beer. "Well, I'll be pushing off—" He'd had too much of this dull scene. After some half-hearted goodbyes and see you tomorrow, everyone sat back down and the conversation slowed even more.

Cec retrieved the cigar box from being the bar and asked, "Smoke, gentlemen?"

With nothing else to do, they all accepted cigars and lit up.

After inhaling a few puffs, Matthew felt a bit ill, and washed the nausea down by draining his glass. That's when he said it.

Gasping out smoke, he said, "Funny how things turn out. If Jean had said yes, we wouldn't be 'ere tonight." He blinked slowly.

Lucien became alert, as he always did at Jean's name. "What?"

"When I asked her out."

Cec and Danny froze.

Tipping his head, Lucien fixed Matthew with that intense look that Matthew dimly recalled from interrogations of the toughest suspects.

Put the glass down, mate, Matthew chided himself. He raised his hands. "It was nothing. She was—is a fine figure of a woman. Christopher had been dead a few years, it seemed enough time had passed…"

"I'm sure," Lucien said shortly, his eyes flaring like hot blue flames.

Matthew knew this was going tits up but he was too drunk to find his way out of it. Perhaps if he explained further— "She turned me down flat; no worries. I figured the whole thing with arresting her son—" He grumbled, "Even if it was Doug Ashby who banged the hammer down. I would have let the boy off with a warning and a few weeks on a work farm. But Doug said his dad had been nothing but trouble and it looked like Jack was headed down the same path…" He ran out of steam.

"So it was all her choice?"

"To say thanks but no thanks?" Matthew shrugged with effort; his arms felt very heavy. "Yep."

The room seemed dim, and Lucien's voice far away, and yet somehow thundered: "It's a wonder that you would want to live with us, seeing how painful it must be."

Matthew shook his head to clear it. "Eh?"

"Or did you think it would be easier to pick up the pieces when I inevitably cock it up?" the thumping voice accused him.

Matthew tried to focus, but it was impossible with Lucien looming over him, blocking out the light. When he looked around, Danny and Cec had disappeared. He was quite alone, his spine pressed against the back of his chair. He rallied.

"Listen, mate," he said with sudden clarity, "you've got to get past this idea that Jean's going to toss you over first chance she gets, or she will. No woman wants a man with no confidence about himself."

Lucien stood up straight, and tugged down his waistcoat. Then without a word, he turned on his heel and left.

When Matthew felt that he could stand without his head spinning too much, he made his way to the bar and requested a cup of strong black coffee. Ignoring the burning, he downed it in a few gulps. Then he sought out Lucien.

He found him out on the balcony, ignoring the cool, damp breeze. Lucien sat in a wrought iron chair, his feet propped on a table, smoking a cigarette and stroking his beard slowly with his thumb as he looked out across the city lights.

Now that he'd found his friend, Matthew didn't know what to say, so he wavered on his feet and waited to be acknowledged.

"I should have asked Alice to be my best ma—woman," Lucien said, but there was no animosity in his tone, so Matthew just chuckled.

"Jean's had to put up enough with your public spectacles. That might just have pushed her over the edge."

Lucien laughed too and waved to another chair. Grateful, Matthew lowered himself into it, sticking his bum leg out straight.

"Should have invited her tonight, though. She wouldn't have let us squabble in this squalid manner," Lucien pointed out.

"True. She'd have no patience for us." Matthew brooded. "Probably why she's not married. She's got little tolerance for the male ego."

"You've noticed," Lucien said, quirking a smile.

"Yes, that's why…" Matthew let that thought die on his lips.

But Lucien was still stone-cold sober. "Why?"

"Nothin'," Matthew grumbled.

Lucien inhaled his cigarette then exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Alice is a fine person. I wouldn't like to see her hurt."

Matthew's temper flared and his head throbbed. "Bloody hell, Lucien! You've got some nerve to suggest I'd hurt a woman. I think things through, not like someone I know," he muttered bitterly.

"Oh, that's what you're doing, is it? Thinking things through?" Lucien held out his cigarette case to Matthew.

He needed to change the topic. "I thought Jean doesn't like you to smoke?" He waved off the cigarettes.

"It's my buck's night. Need to be a naughty lad—" Peeking out from under his lashes, Lucien had that expression just like when he did something that would land them in the headmaster's office.

"Bullshit. She's got you under her thumb, good and proper," Matthew sneered.

Lucien didn't seem put out by that indictment. He shrugged, giving another of those soft smiles. "Just be careful you don't think your way right out of a chance."

Matthew lolled his head back, feeling ill again. When was the last time he'd drank this much? "After three years of doing everything possibly wrong, you're suddenly the expert on courting women? Alright then. Still the smartest man in the room." This time, he didn't care if he offended Lucien.

"I thought we'd straightened all that out."

"I don't mind you being smarter than me," Matthew said with a limp-wristed wave. "Or solving the crimes. Just bloody tired of you patronising me."

"I don't patronise you!" protested Lucien.

"You're doing it right now! Trying to tell me how to get a bird!"

"Alice isn't some bird from down at your local!"

"Exactly. And she'd be crazy to even—" Matthew couldn't finish the sentence.

Lucien clasped his shoulder and Matthew had to fight back. "So you can solve more crimes drunk than a station full of sober coppers. Has it occured to you that you need to be drunk to solve them? What are you going to do about that now?" He met Lucien's fear-filled gaze. "Now that Jean will be your wife, not someone you can dismiss with two weeks' pay?"

"She was never—"

"She was. She knew it, and somewhere in there—" He tapped Lucien's skull. "You knew."

Lucien sat back down. "I never would have," he whispered.

Matthew was suddenly very tired. "But you could have."

"I never would have," Lucien repeated, now strong.

"Oh really. Why not?"

"Because I always loved her. Even when I didn't know it, I did."

"Then I guess it's good that you're marrying her."

Lucien suddenly grinned. "I am, aren't I?" He looked at his watch. "In…oh goodness me. We should get to bed."

Matthew struggled to his feet. "Damn right. Gotta get our beauty sleep." He was still drunk.

Lucien took his arm, supporting him. "Can't have Jean turning right around and walking back down the aisle when she gets a look at me."

"You're doing it again, mate."

"Yes, yes…"

After the men passed through the doorway, Cec stepped out of the shadows. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray that Lucien had used, then picked it up, and pushed the chairs back under the table. After one more look around the balcony, he followed them in. Young Mr Parker had removed himself to the closest pub with rooms for the night, the lads were sharing a room upstairs, and Cec would go home to his flat. The party was over.


	7. Hen Night

Rose tended to avoid situations which made her feel useless. Tonight, she was surrounded by just such a scenario. Lucien had called it Jean's hen night but with just two women alone in the large, creaky house, it was hardly such a frivolous occasion. It was something much more unsettling than a party.

Jean was finalizing all the wedding details with the precision of a battlefield general. She was no nervous bride, but cool and steely-eyed, reviewing her troops in the forms of vases full of flowers and canapes on silver trays, all ready to be picked up by the club caterers. Not that she didn't trust the catering or decorators, Jean assured Rose as she tweaked a wilting bloom, but it would be a personal touch.

"I don't know how you keep this all straight," Rose said nervously, swirling her sherry in the glass.

"It's pretty simple. Just like any church fete—" Jean stopped talking and found her own glass among the debris on the kitchen table. With a gulp, it was emptied, and she refilled their glasses.

Rose knew she had to change the subject. "Haven't you ordered a cake from Filbert's Bakery?"

"Yes," Jean said, shifting her gaze.

"Then…what's this?" Rose motioned to a square, two-tiered cake covered in pale frosting and silver piping.

"I saw this idea in a magazine," Jean said quickly. "A groom's cake. The English and Americans do them."

"It's a different flavour?"

"No…" Jean murmured, continuing to be evasive, "It's a fruit cake too. But it's soaked in rum."

"Alright," Rose said slowly. "That sounds right for Lucien."

Jean gave a snort and hiccup as she sipped her sherry.

"With a second cake, I'll be sure to have the pieces to freeze. A layer for our first anniversary." Jean had that bright smile that Rose was seeing more and more on her face. Then she mumbled absentmindedly, "The second layer is for your child's christening."

Rose choked on her sherry.

"Yes, well." Flushing, Jean returned to her flowers. "Let me start on the bouquets," she announced with determination, and began to sort through the vases for just the right blooms.

Rose wandered from the kitchen. "Lucien hasn't shown you the studio yet?" The heavy dark doors to the studio were closed, and the key was in the lock with a red ribbon hanging from it.

Abandoning her task, Jean joined her. "No." She leaned in close and lowered her voice despite the fact that they were alone. "I'm certain he's scattered rose petals on the bed. Some red roses are missing from my vases."

Rose wrapped her arm around Jean's shoulders and gushed, "Oh, that's sweet," then realised that she was a bit tipsy. And when Jean flopped against her, Rose knew she wasn't the only one.

"Sweet," Jean agreed. "And sappy." She sighed heavily. "He's a big romantic." She flicked the red ribbon on the key and frowned. "Sentimental."

"Charlie would never do that," Rose announced. "Not even one bloody daisy."

"Oh, honey," Jean said, taking Rose's hand and leading her back to the kitchen.

Rose was determined to clear the air. "Charlie just wasn't the sort of chap."

Jean furrowed her brow. "What sort?"

"Who made grand gestures."

"Did you want grand gestures?"

"I suppose not." Rose brooded into her glass. "Would have made it more difficult to end it."

"I think—" Jean had become owlish as the drink took effect. "—that the two of you just wanted different things. No harm in seeing that and calling it quits." It was her turn to stare into the depths of her sherry. "There's the sort of opposites that click, like the bolt and the box of a well-oiled lock, and then the sorts that never quite align."

Rose said, "He wanted a wife and family. I don't, at least not now." Jean was pulling stems from vases and bunching the blooms together, trying to find the right colours for the bouquets. Rose rushed to add, "Not that there's anything wrong with marriage."

"As long as it's for other people?" Jean suggested.

Rose smiled weakly. "I guess?"

"Perhaps some day you'll find the right person and the won't seem to be any question."

Rose had that flare of anger that she always felt when someone, usually an older woman, told her something like that. But before she could protest, Jean added, "The funny thing is, I wanted to be married again, and yet when perfectly pleasant, fine men presented themselves, I'd hold back." She held up a bunch of flowers with a cream ribbon holding it together. "Enough?"

"Yes. I don't think you want too much. Keep it simple so your dress shines. Your smile shines."

"My smile? Do you think I'll be smiling? Or crying?"

"Definitely smiling." They exchanged grins.

Rose was suddenly struck by a horrifying thought. "You were waiting around for Lucien to come his senses, weren't you?" Then glared at her sherry glass accusingly, but Jean seemed to be in a tolerate mood this evening.

"No—or, I wasn't, here." Jean tapped her temple. "Perhaps just…here." She lay her hand over her heart. "Even after I could acknowledge that I wanted to…be in his company, the first time he went to propose, I thought I was going to faint. Every reason why we shouldn't marry just jumped into my head and I'm quite sure I wouldn't have been able to say yes, even though I couldn't imagine being anywhere but here—" She looked around the kitchen. "—with him. But to be Mrs Blake—" She patted Rose's hand and her eyes shimmered with tears. "There's a difference, you know, between loving someone and wanting to marry them."

Rose's head felt heavy as a rock. She propped it on her free hand. "It all sounds rather complicated."

"Not the second time he asked. Saying yes was the easiest thing I've ever done." The grin was back.

The women clinked their sherry glasses, a bit surprised to see they were full again.

"I'll take your word for it," Rose said.

Jean looked very solemn. "However, if you're going to continue to kiss your toads while looking for your prince–" Rose rolled her eyes. Jean continued, "You should see the doctor about…a solution…if you're going to continue to do more than…kiss. The toads. That is."

It took Rose a moment to process what Jean had said. "Oh! Right! Well, yes." She gasped a laugh. "My mum wouldn't ever say this to me. But of course, she's as innocent as the day she was married while you–" She blinked. She really needed to stop drinking. She pushed away her sherry glass.

Jean didn't look put out. She was turning her glass slowly, her cheeks pink. "Well, I know what you think was happening…or was going to happen when you ran into me in the corridor. But it wasn't."

"You really were going for your knitting?"

"Okay, no," Jean confessed. "But when I had another moment to think, I decided it's best to wait. I didn't have that sort of wedding night with Christopher, but I will with Lucien." She stroked the pale petal of the rose with which she was making his boutonniere. "There's only one first time, after all."

"I'm sure Lucien was very understanding."

Jean giggled.

Rose nudged her shoulder. "Rose petals on the bed."

With a laugh, Jean held up Rose's bouquet. "What do you think?"

"Gorgeous. But we better get to bed, speaking of needing to look gorgeous."

Jean pushed back her limp curls. "And sober up a bit."

x

Alice finally forced herself to get out of her car and walk slowly down the pavement toward the Colonists' Club. She'd watched the other guests file in but now the crowd was down to a trickle. As she entered the cool darkness of the foyer, she realised the error of her decision. A waiter peeked expectantly down the stairwell, and when he saw that she wasn't the bride, thinned his lips and disappeared. Everyone would be watching for Jean and Rose, and instead, she would coming up the stairs…or not….she began to ease back toward the doorway when Rose popped her head out a room off the foyer.

"Oh, Alice! We need you!"

Unsure, Alice entered the room. It smelled of fresh flowers, face cream and hair spray. Jean was leaned on a dressing table for support, her wedding dress half on. At first she thought Jean was sobbing with distress, but she was gasping with laughter.

Still, Alice asked, "What's wrong?" with alarm.

Rose slammed the door closed, then had to put her hand to her forehead. "Bloody hell," she gasped.

"Bloody hell instead," moaned Jean, carefully sipping from a cup of tea so not to spill on her dress.

"What's wrong?" Alice repeated. She was good in a crisis, but she couldn't even determine what the problem was.

"Can't get the buttons up. So small," said Rose.

"My fault really. Just had to have these pearl buttons," explained Jean.

Alice put down her handbag. "Let's see about this," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Then she confessed, "But do remember, I'm not accustomed to putting clothing on a body, only taking them off," and was instantly horrified, but Rose and Jean burst into laughter. Perhaps she hadn't put her foot into it.

Jean straightened and squared her shoulders with great dignity. "We're a touch hungover, Alice. Please pardon us."

"Hungover?" Alice asked, askance.

"Just a touch," Rose told her. "But I can't seem to focus on those buttons." She gripped her head again. "So small."

"I can do small," Alice assured Jean. Carefully, she slipped the round pearls through the fine loops over the satin corset and up to the nape of Jean's neck.

"Could you do my necklace as well?" Alice worked that fine clasp, feeling very useful.

Rose was trying to put her hair up, but it kept falling down. "Blast," she growled.

"Don't worry about it," said Jean. "You look lovely as you are."

"Hungover," Rose reminded her, and they both giggled.

"I'm terribly thirsty," said Jean, draining her teacup.

"You'll need to re-hydrate, and get to bed early," said Alice, picking up her handbag and giving her hat a quick check in the mirror.

"I'll be married to Lucien Blake in…" Jean checked the wall clock. "—ten minutes. I don't think that shall be a problem."

Rose and Jean started to laugh again, and Alice could only beat a retreat, deciding that she was missing some necessary gene to bond with other women. She scampered up the stairs without any thought of her very public entrance, too busy trying to remove images of Lucien Blake undoing those fine buttons, unlacing that satin corset, and all else that would follow. Because she thought of Lucien as a good mate, and that was the last thing that one wanted to picture a good mate doing.

Befuddled, she didn't realise that she was walking down the aisle, and everyone was turning in their seats and looking at her. Before mortification could root her to the floor, Matthew caught her gaze, questioning. She gave him a reassuring smile and he nodded back.

"Here's a spot, Doctor Harvey," said Danny Parker, getting her attention and patting the chair beside him. She smiled a thanks and sat. She had a place after all, among good friends.

Lucien was checking his pocket watch and Matthew clasped him on the shoulder. "It's time."


End file.
